Sweet and Vicious(Margarelli Brothers 1)

Sweet and Vicious

My brother and I run the mob around here. I don’t mess with civilians. But when I see a beautiful girl in trouble I can’t stop myself from rescuing her.

She’s out cold, at the mercy of guys that have bad intentions. I take her home with me, tuck her into bed and get on with my business.

Easy, right?

Until she wakes up and sees something she shouldn’t have. Something that could get her killed. Something I should kill her for.

But I won’t. I can’t.

Instead, I keep her locked up. My own personal plaything. A beautiful captive I can’t set free, or resist.

I’ve spent my life avoiding relationships with women completely. But now? She belongs to me.

And I will never, ever let her go.

Three Years Ago

Antonio

“Come in, come in,” my father’s voice boomed jovially. He sounded a little too fucking happy, if you asked me. He must have started drinking early tonight, I thought as I took a seat in one of the armchairs facing my father’s mahogany desk. My older brother, Vincent, was already there.

What the fuck have these two been talking about, anyway?

I grunted and nodded my head in greeting. My brother just looked at me with his cold blue eyes. He was scary as fuck. With his dark hair and those piercing eyes, I’d always kind of thought he looked like a grown-up version of Damien, the kid from The Omen.

The scary-as-fuck 70s version, not the new crap.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My brother might be arrogant and cold when it came to business and strangers, but we were tight. He barely spoke to strangers, but when we met up for drinks or coffee, he was practically chatty. We were more than brothers. We were best friends.

That’s why I was surprised to get called in for a meeting I knew nothing about. Usually, Vincent would have given me a heads up when shit was coming down the turnpike. And shit was almost always rolling downhill.

My father never seemed to be happy with anything I did. Though, to be fair, I was not the golden boy my brother was. Where he excelled at school and sports, I excelled at illegal and illicit activities.

Mostly drinking, gambling, and fucking. Daddy definitely did not approve. He thought a man should have control in everything he did. My brother had learned that lesson early and lived by the same creed.

But not me. I was frequently out of control, living by the seat of my pants. And causing trouble was my specialty.

So, it was time for another one of Dad’s ‘talks.’ Being scolded by your father as an adult was fucking humiliating. When it was Francisco Margarelli doing the scolding, it was a little more . . . intense.

My father was not above beating my ass with his belt, or worse. And I dared not fight back. My brother tried to stop him when things got ugly, but that only meant that both of us got beaten.

Not that it stopped either of us from standing up for each other. Not a chance in hell that would ever happen.

Last time I’d gotten a beatdown, it had been due to my womanizing. I’d barely been out of high school when I fucked the wife of a rival mob boss. That had nearly started a war. My father had needed to make financial amends, something he had not let me forget for years.

Then a few weeks later, I’d fucked the rival’s daughter, just because I could. But nobody knew about that to this day, I thought with a smirk. No one but Vince.

I’d learned my lesson, though. I didn’t shit where I ate. I might own a couple of night spots with my brother, but I didn’t pick up women there. Or at any of our businesses. I went elsewhere to pick up my nightly screw. I went out nearly every night.

And I never, ever left the club alone.

Half the time, I didn’t just bring home one girl. I brought home two. A couple of times, it had been three.

And one memorable night, I’d had four young ladies in my bed. I smiled at the memory. They’d been very willing and eager to experiment that night. I had a feeling they had all left much closer friends than they’d been before.

My dick had been sore for a week.

But that was just smoke and mirrors. All I needed was regular sex, no strings attached. That’s why I never saw anyone more than a handful of times. I was pretty much a professional when it came to ghosting.

Having multiple bodyguards outside the mansion at all times definitely helped. I had a place downtown near the clubs for the purpose of sex and sleeping it off. But if I wasn’t hooking up, I mostly stayed here, in the family home. Calling it a home was an understatement. It was a massive stone mansion built right in the middle of the city. It had been built by an oil magnate and once belonged to a mayor before the family had taken it over.